Monday, September 03, 2007

Zachariah Fennel

My sister's cat died the day before yesterday. He was 19 years old. If you are doing the math, that means he was born in 1988. Loving memories of Zach...

1. When my sister came back from school in Arizona, she had an entire family of cats: Maria and Bernie (mama cat and uncle cat), plus five babies with the weirdest names you could image. I think there were five, anyway, with names like Riboflavin, to boot. Zach was instantly memorable.

2. Zach liked to play fetch with our rolled up cigarette packages. Not just chase, fetch. Like a dog. It was awesome. An interactive cat.

3. He was a snugglelove. Sometimes he'd forget to retract his claws when he'd balance on your lap. Yowch. But the whole time his motor was running and his moony eyes were on you, imploring and full of love.

4. His meow was always high, like a baby's cry, and eventually it turned into nothing more than a raspy squeak. You'd be surprised at how charming a live squeaky toy is, especially one that purrs and nuzzles and waits to be petted.

5. Zach and his sisters stayed with my mom and me for awhile (the reason is lost in the mists of the 80s, along with banana clips and "Frankie Say Relax" t-shirts). His sisters broke a lamp, Zach burned a tattoo of lurve in our hearts. How can you not love a handsome catdog? My best friend and I were responsible for bringing Zachy home from the vet after he got his wires snipped (thank you, Bob Barker). He was still kind of drugged up when he tried to jump off of the chair. Have you ever seen a cat do a walking handstand? Quite a sight. He was pretty impressed by it, too, by the look on his face.

Over the years, this little man has always been around and it will be a terrible feeling to visit my sister's house knowing that Zach won't be there with his insistent squeak. Much love and godspeed, Zachy.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Poor Zachy. He had a good life though. We'll miss him. Mister Squeeky.

9:22 AM  

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